The Stranger
by itsjutme
Summary: While at an art exhibit, Jesse is fascinated by an unknown woman. He just has to find out who she is. AU Jeca. Read and Review.


She walked into the room with an assertiveness about her that fascinated him. He secretly observed her all evening. He wanted to know everything about this woman, her dreams, fears, likes, dislikes, _everything_ imaginable. A fresh scent occupied his senses when she walked past him. Suddenly he found himself following her like a lost puppy. He didn't even know her. She was alluring. He was being coy; keeping his distance but ended up in the same room with her. What the hell was he thinking…doing? He was captivated from afar. He wondered what her thoughts were as she studied each painting. He watched her as she raised a glass up to her full, pink lips and sipped the bubbly champagne, he too sipped the champagne and the sweet, bubbly taste filled his mouth. He needed more, but didn't want to leave her. It would be just a brief moment, but visions of her clouded his thoughts.

He walked out of the room. She sensed it. She felt him watching her all evening. Her presence enticed him, teased and toyed with him. She liked it. She wondered how long would it take for him to approach her. She then decided she would stay here and start a new beginning for herself. She was in London. She wanted to see if London liked her style of photography. The US hadn't been too kind to her; they wanted more portraits of sex and eroticism. It was very unsettling to her. Everything was more worthwhile in London. The buildings, scenery and people seemed more poetic. In Central, she would observe and capture moments with a click of her camera. She was happy. It had been a little over a month she had been in London, but she was doing very well for herself. Life was good. So why the hell was she at an art exhibition? Evaluating and sizing up her competition. She couldn't figure out what people saw in these paintings.

She pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it, inhaling and exhaling as the grayish smoke flowed across her mouth and chin. She studied the painting before her and all she thought was…Oh God, there he was again. Would he have the courage to speak to her? Would it be a quick or a long conversation? What would the conversation consist of? Is he intelligent or feebleminded? She stared at the painting, waiting as she took another puff from her cigarette. Her back was to him, her long brunette locks of hair flowed down her back. As she stood observing the painting, she shifted her weight back and forth on her legs. As he watched her, he chuckled softly. He hadn't approached her yet, nor did he know what he would say. Better yet, what would she say? Fuck it, he thought it's now or never. Time was running out. He took another sip of his champagne and strolled over and stood next to her. She was transfixed at the painting before her that she didn't notice he was beside her. He took a deep breath, and then he spoke…

"Is this to your liking?" he asked turning to look at her.

"Actually…No" she responded making eye contact with him.

He quirked an eyebrow "Why not?" he asked, curious. He then noticed her eyes. They were an alluring shade of blue, thinking like the color of the sea in the evening. He was quite handsome. Seems quite a few years her senior. He was very distinguished; an astute look about him in the light gray suit and tie he wore.

"Do you want to know?" she said, placidly. An exhale of breath, he smiled "I would very much like to know."

Her voice tapered off to almost a whisper "Nothing's real." Thinking for a moment, he wondered what she was implying.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"There is nothing real about art."

"This sounds like we're about to go deep in conversation on this topic. You want to talk about art?" he said having a certain tone to his voice.

"It's tawdry…crafty."

"All art is not." He suggested. She looked at him waiting for his next comment.

"Art comes in different forms." She acknowledged.

"Please, by all means continue." she said.

He began "Let's see, you've got music, writing, theater, sculpting…."

"Yeah, and it goes on and on" she said crudely.

"It's like a mirage in the eyes of the world." He looking at her with curiosity. She seemed very intelligent.

"So what you're saying is…art can be an illusion and deceitful." She gave him a cheeky grin, walking toward the next painting.

"Why are we looking at this painting?" he asked.

"Look at this painting" moving her hand in front as a gesture. "This is going to answer your question." The painting was of a road that half of it was upside down. The painting was strange, quite odd actually.

"What could possibly be real about this image that the artist took from the world to remold it into their own interpretation?" He stood silently watching her study the painting.

"There is nothing genuine about it." She turned towards him speaking in a matter-of-factly tone. "And let's talk theater for a moment. It's just people telling fictional stories of people, personalities, and realities. It manifests lives that aren't their own." Looking at him, she leaned closer and whispered "They allocate beautiful lies." He smiled widely. She was clever and knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I just think art is another form of lying." She said in a matter of opinion.

"You don't like liars then?" She smiled at the statement.

"No, I don't."

"Well then, what kind of art form is there that doesn't lie, as you would say?" he asked.

"Come…Follow me and I'll show you." Following her closely behind her into the next room, he stopped in the doorway and watched as she walked toward the middle displays in the room. She turned and faced him with a hand gesture to the displays on the board.

"Photography."

He looked around at pictures of different people, places, and landscapes. Looking at her again he asked "Why?"

"Look closer and tell me what you see." Looking around, he seen something new in each photo; laughter, love, and life.

Using her two fingers to air quote "You can't make, create, or mold photos; they just are a captured moment that really exists in time." Placing her hand on each photo in a row "Here are just plain truths, no lies or deceptions…real…genuine…truth."

He was silent for a moment thinking. What she had said is basically true.

"So, do you understand now?"

"Yes…yes I do." He said smiling.

"Let me ask you a question. When you look at me, what do you see?" Placing his hands on his lapel, he studied her beauty before responding. She was young and vibrant.

"I see a young, beautiful, confident woman, whom is wise beyond her years." She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her mouth. He too, laughed along with her.

"Would you like to accompany me on a walk in the night air on the streets of London?" he asked.

"I would love to kind sir." They had left the exhibit and on to the streets Central London. They had both talked about things from their past. She had learned he was a widower. His wife had passed at a young age from Cancer. She talked about her friends and family in the states. He was fascinated by her as she was with him. He stopped walking when he came to a realization.

"You're a photographer, aren't you?" She nodded.

"What do you take pictures of?"

"Pretty much any and everything…lives of strangers." She looked at him and smiled. He seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying. He knew the question was coming up.

"What do you do for a living?" He was hesitant, sighing softly as he averted his eyes toward the night sky.

"I'm a writer" He said shaking his head.

"Are you pulling my leg?"

"I assure you, I am not."

"What do you write about?" she asked.

He pondered before answering. She was really interested, wanting to know more.

"Strangers…Portraits." he replied. She smiled.

"You may very well be the first writer I like." She looked away briefly before looking back in his eyes.

"I'll take that as a good thing." He laughed. She thought he was interesting to say the least. He was rugged, in a mysterious kind of way. His eyes were chocolate brown.

"Can I take your picture?" she asked. He nodded in approval. She reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out her camera, placing it to her eye and clicking away.

"Why do you want to take my picture?" He said facing her.

Because…you're a beautiful stranger." He smiled widely at her words. Her camera was clicking faster.

"Look at the river." she said. The wind blew ruffling his hair, when he turned his head toward her, she knew she just captured a beautiful shot. He turned and faced her with his hands in his pockets looking at the ground. He proceeded to walk toward her, she stopped taking pictures and took a few steps back.

"How will I not be a stranger to you?" he asked.

"When you tell me your name." she said.

"It's Jesse…Jesse Swanson." She smiled putting her camera back in her pocket.

"I'm Beca Mitchell."

He extended his hand and gestured for her to come to him. She hesitated briefly, then proceeded slowly towards him. In a few strides, he met her half way. They were looking into each other's eyes. Jesse was mesmerized by her beauty. Her eyes were deep blue like the river beside them. His insides trembled.

"You're so beautiful." he said.

She blushed. "Thank you, so are you."

He grabbed her hand and held it in his. "You took pictures of me," he smiled. "It's my turn now."

She took the camera out of her pocket to hand to him "So, you want to take pictures of me?" she said smiling.

"Yes, but no." She looked confused.

"I want to write about you."

"Why do you want to write about _me_?" she asked curiously.

"Because you're enchanting." She smiled. He continued "You too, are a beautiful stranger."

"You think so?"

"I do…you amaze me." He said excitedly.

"How so?" she was teasing him.

"Because I know you." She rolled her eyes then smiled.

"You told me you write about strangers."

"And you told me you photograph strangers." They both chuckled at his antics.

"I know your name now so you are not a stranger to me." She squinted her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. He watched her as he placed his hands in his pockets.

"What about me are you amazed by?" she asked. He inhaled, exhaled, and smiled.

"Your intellect, your vivacity, your voice, your eyes…your lips." His eyes traveled from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes again. He leaned down to kiss her, when she put her hand in between them.

"You don't kiss strangers?" he asked softly.

"You're not a stranger because I know your name." she smiled and closed the distance, he kissed her then feeling her hand and fingers running through his hair. He ran his hand up her arm and around her back pulling her closer. Soft, tender lips molding together; like clay forming art. They both broke the kiss panting softly.

Holding hands, they continued to walk down the path when she whispered "When do you want to write about me?"

"We can start right now."

"What would your title be?" she asked. He thought about it for a while as they walked. As he recalled the events for the evening is when it hit him. He stopped walking and faced her with a smile.

"The Stranger."


End file.
